Eli moved through campus in a daze.

He'd woken up from his nightmare in a cold sweat and spent the rest of the night Googling common dream meanings and phobias.  He'd ended up in the dark recesses of the pseudoscience Interwebs, but even then, he couldn't find what he was looking for.

It was almost like the information had been privatized.

Or locked, his lizard brain mused.

He padded into his humanities lecture fifteen minutes late, barely registering the professor's huff of irritation.  He did, however, notice the look of absolute horror on his friend's face.

"¡Ay!" Lopez whisper-shouted, tipping his chair back onto solid ground like a normal person.  "What happened to you? You look worse than yesterday."

Eli slipped off his backpack and sat down, facing his friend, his partner in crime, his confidant.  "Okay.  So like.  Have you ever wondered if this—our world and everything around us—is even...like...real?"  He licked his lips.  "What if we're all just...I don't know...brains in jars reacting to external stimuli?  Or what if this whole thing is just a virtual reality?"

Lopez looked him over critically.  Then he sighed and reached for his thermos. "I need more bean juice for this, Plato."

"I know you're being sarcastic, but Plato is extremely relevant."

"Of course he is." 

Eli ducked closer, furtive.  "I had this super vivid dream last night, and it felt...it felt real."

"Don't they always feel that way?"

Eli's gaze dipped to the desk and Teddy's notes.  The boy had doodled all over his margins—expelling his boundless energy onto paper in the form of sports logos and offensive caricatures.   "No, this was different, Teddy.  I was in this strange place on a table with all these tubes connected to me and this weird device on my head." Just thinking about it sent a shudder through his body, brushing across nerve endings and scraping them raw.  "It was like I was in cryosleep or something.  A simulation."

Lopez tried to school his features, but Eli could see the smile pulling at the firm line of his mouth.  "Like The Matrix?"

"Yeah, I guess." Eli frowned at the idiot's tickled expression.  "This wasn't just a nightmare about a movie franchise, Ted.  I'm not kidding around.   I woke up somewhere else." 

Lopez sighed, clearly unconvinced.  "Alright, alright, I'll indulge you."  He waved his pen at the rest of the room. "If this was all some simulation built to keep us distracted or satisfied or whatever, then why isn't it some perfect utopia?"

"What are you saying?"

"I mean, I live at home with my parents and their devil spawn children. I'm probably going to get deported and never see you again. Meanwhile, you lost your dad, and you never speak to your mom. People are dying all over the place." Lopez shook his head. "Why create a reality like that?  Why create a world where we're bound to question the meaning of life and suffering and then kill each other when we don't arrive at the same conclusions?  What's the point?"

Eli shifted in his seat, glancing at the professor pacing at the other end of the room. He lowered his voice. "Maybe it's an experiment of some kind, you know?  A test to see how we address different situations.  Or maybe that conflict exists to make us appreciate how good we have it."

Lopez rolled his eyes.  "That's what my abuela says to justify god's actions."

"Except I'm not talking about an omnipotent, omnibenevolent being pulling on the strings of fate. What if it's our own minds creating these projections?  Or what if it's something else?"

"What do you mean, something else?"

Eli faltered as he recalled the strange voices and their mechanical cadence. He looked to the side, face hot. "Like...robots."

Lopez burst out laughing, the sudden noise turning a dozen heads.  Eli elbowed him, and the boy quickly stifled his chuckles.  But it was too late.

"Care to share your joke with the rest of the class?" the professor complained.  He was one of those old-school teachers who took attendance and forbid laptops and cell phones in his classroom, and in this case, disruptive private conversations.

Eli and Lopez exchanged embarrassed looks, though the latter was still holding back his laughter. 

"No, that's okay," Eli said.  "Sorry."

A normal professor would drop it, but not Mr. Beatty, with his gray whiskers and sweater vest and close-lipped smile.   "No, no, please enlighten us."

Eli scanned the impatient faces of his peers—some smirking, some glaring. He cleared his throat. "I was just...I was thinking about existence, and how maybe...we don't?"  

Lopez snickered again, this time joined by a few other students, and Eli scowled at him.   "Like maybe this is all just a dream or something, and we have no way to prove otherwise," he added, hoping to salvage a few scraps of dignity.

A strange look passed over the professor's face.  "Ah yes.  Simulation theory.  A hot topic among the scientific community." 

Eli straightened at the tone of recognition there, the familiarity in the professor's voice. Beatty knew about this theory—maybe he could help him through this, talk him down from the perilous ledge he'd found himself.

"A bright mind you have there."  The old man's smile turned scornful. "I'd appreciate it if you put it to good use by arriving on time to lecture and taking proper notes."

Or not.

Eli sank low in his seat, murmuring a quiet, "Right."

The man returned to lecturing, and Eli kicked Lopez in the shin, taking pleasure in the traitor's sharp hiss of pain.

The rest of class passed by in a blur—mostly because Eli didn't pay any attention whatsoever.  He couldn't think about the Renaissance when all of it could be erroneous data programmed into his brain. 

"Earth to Eli," Lopez murmured, poking him in the shoulder.

"Sorry. What?"

Lopez stared at him for a few beats, concern dimpling his brow.  "I was saying that a bunch of intramural teams are throwing this joint party tonight to celebrate our victory over Douglas.   You should come."

"It's Wednesday...and you're throwing a rager?"

"Yeah?  And?" 

Eli didn't know what to say to that.  It amazed him how people could flawlessly navigate a world of hangovers and overpriced academia. 

"I think you need some time away from your computer," Lopez put carefully. "Besides. It would be good for you to cut loose, compa. Enjoy the college experience a bit."

The lack of humor in his statement told Eli he wasn't just poking fun; he was legitimately worried.  And maybe he was right. Getting away from the alarmingly-barren directory could help clear his head.

"I'll...stop by."

Lopez heaved a sigh of relief. "I guess that's as good as it gets with you introverts."  He stood from the desk and swung his gym pack over his shoulder.  "Hasta luego, loco."

"See you," came Eli's delayed reply, his gaze tethered to the old man at the front of the room, watching Beatty respond to inquiries from the overzealous. 

Eli gathered his things slowly, waiting his turn, and Beatty grinned at him when he approached.  "How can I help you, oh Tardy One?"

Eli paused, trying to stitch his words together in a way that made sense.  "I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about the simulation theory?  I've heard of it before, but I didn't think it had any legitimacy."

"Quite the contrary.  As technology advances, the hypothesis has only garnered more attention.  Which, as it stands, is the idea that we're living in a digital construct overseen by intelligently-superior descendants or life-forms."

Eli took a moment to process his words. "If it's gained so much traction in the field, then...it's feasible?"

"Potentially.  You've seen what CSAR Tech is up to.  Creating an immersive virtual reality or simulation isn't so far-fetched anymore.  Soon the technology could become so robust that we wouldn't be able to distinguish one world from the other."

"So, it's basically Plato's Cave," Eli said, feeling a strange spark of curiosity and excitement he hadn't experienced in weeks.  The Republic was one of the few works he'd enjoyed in this miserable class, and for once, the content was actually relevant to a real life conversation.  "We could be living in a cave, living this superficial reality where we're content just watching shadows play across the wall.  And if we never turn around and see the objects projecting those shadows, then we'll never know the scope of our own existence—and who's choosing which objects to show us."

"It's not until the torch-bearer appears to us that we realize we've never known truth," Beatty agreed.  "Who knows what occurs outside our viewshed?  We may never know."

Eli was putting himself out on a limb here, but he was desperate for validation—he needed someone to tell him he wasn't completely losing it.  "Do you think it's true?"

Old green eyes crinkled in amusement.  "What does it matter what I think?"

"I guess it doesn't," Eli admitted.  He loosed a confused and tired breath.  "I just...I wish I had more evidence. Just...more knowledge in general."

"Don't we all wish that?" Beatty chuckled.  He tilted his head, searching Eli's eyes for something. It was a bit unnerving. "Let's say we are in a simulation, though.  None of this is real.  You and I are both just programmed characters in someone else's virtual reality.  What does it matter?"

Eli lost him at that.  "...What?"

The man shrugged.  "What does it matter?  We're both conscious, as far as we're aware.  Reasonably content.  Life feels as real as we'll ever experience it.  So what does it matter if this is a simulation or not?  Who cares if we're all just brains in vats?"

Eli opened his mouth, but he closed it when he realized he had no answer to provide. Why did it matter if they were content in the first place?  If they'd never know the truth for certain, then why should he agonize over it?

Beatty winked at him and bent to grab his vintage leather briefcase. He shot him a fond, knowing smile. "Now, why don't you devote some of this passion for the philosophical to your assignments, Eli?"

Snorting, Eli backed away.  "I'll do my best.  Thanks for your time."

But as he left the lecture hall, he wondered how his professor knew his name when he'd never introduced himself.

Eli pulled out his phone as he waited for the crosswalk signal to change. Brenna had sent him a text a few hours ago, and he opened it now, his heart dropping at the simple message.

Results came in. I didn't win, but I did take the Public Choice Award.  I'll get em' next time. 

Eli's thumbs rapped furiously across his keyboard. Fucking posers. I told you. 

He squinted down at the angry blue bubble, and he sighed, realizing that probably wasn't what she needed to hear.

Sorry, B, he added. I know you wanted that solo exhibition.

That's okay, she replied a moment later.  You can't call it a dream if it comes easy, right?

I guess not. 

Eli frowned at her casual dismissal, her tranquil acceptance.

Lopez was right.  This world wasn't perfect.  If it was perfect, Eli's father would still be here. His mother wouldn't be this...unapproachable deity. He would have a healthy relationship with Lopez or someone just as good to him. He'd live somewhere that didn't stink of overflowing garbage. And his sister would have won her goddamn art contest.

This world wasn't perfect—it was stagnant.

Nothing ever changed.  Nothing got better. And sometimes, it felt like he'd been stuck here in place for millennia. 

Eli blinked, and a cold chill sank into his skin and burrowed into his flesh.

Time...

When he tried to think about the passage of time, it brought physical discomfort to his brain. He couldn't fathom all the days of coding and deli sandwiches—the constant push and pull with his mother and sister.    Time was untouchable.  Incomprehensible. 

And that wasn't normal.

Mind reeling with a slew of fresh theories, Eli stepped off the curb. He was so engrossed in his own mind, he failed to acknowledge the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—or the flashing red icon on the pedestrian beacon.

He was violently thrust out of his musings when a familiar voice screamed a haunted and desperate, "Eli!"

His head snapped to the source of Teddy's scream, and his body instantly shut down at the sight before him.

A bus was hurdling straight for him, brakes screeching against the object's inexorable momentum.

Ten meters out.  Two meters out.

Eli couldn't move, grounded by the weight of shock, the paralysis of certain death. I'm going to die, he thought—his last thought, surely.

A horn blasted his eardrums, and he felt a whoosh of warm air embrace him like the world's final goodbye. He closed his eyes and held his breath.

Waiting for the end.

Waiting.

But the bus didn't slam into him and fracture every bone in his body.  The blunt force didn't splinter his ribs and puncture his internal organs—it didn't send him skidding across pavement or flying across the hood of the vehicle.

No.  The bus didn't strike him at all.

Eli opened his eyes to an intersection barren of cars. Panting heavily, he spun to face the other direction, but he found no bus hurdling down the street or slamming to a halt.

Around him, everyone carried on as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.  And there was absolutely no sign of Lopez.

He swallowed, mouth dry, limbs weak and shaky.  What the hell?

Lost, he turned back to the crosswalk signal, and he stilled at the sight of a flashing, neon image—a little green man flickering intermittently over a blinking red hand.

A glitch.

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This novella is honestly so fun to write. I can't wait to dive in deep.

Thanks for all the support so far! <3